


Lost Letters

by cleo4u2



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky/Steve - Freeform, Fluff, Implied Relationship, M/M, No Smut, Stucky - Freeform, letters from the front
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It always irritated me that Steve was so close to Bucky, but he never told Bucky about the serum. They didn't write? Well, maybe they tried. These are their lost letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Letters

**Author's Note:**

> OMFG, the formatting on this was balls. 
> 
> Thanks, as always and well deserved to [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile) who betas all the stupid things that my mind comes up with.

~~Dear Steve,~~  
Hey punk,

    Basic has been a new kind of hell. My Drill Sergeant doesn’t like me, but can’t say I like him much either. You’re gonna hate it when I say this, but you’re lucky to still be back home. I can barely keep up with the shit these guys make us do. You’d be wheezing and coughing up what good lung you got left. They kick our asses with callestenics (did I spell that right?) from five in the morning to eight, when they let us go to chow. Then it’s target practice and any other skills they want bored into our brains until night. At least with your ears you wouldn’t have to listen to half the bullshit they scream at us.  
    Bet you wish you were here, though, right? Kinda wish you were here, too.

Bucky

 

* * *

 

Bucky,

They won’t let me send any letters out. Something about it being too classified to risk. I guess they’re worried I’ll send you coded messages and you’ll report on Project Rebirth to the enemy. I can’t _not_ write to you, though. It’s hard enough not talking to you every day, seeing you, knowing you’re going to be on the front lines in a few months. I will be, too, if I work hard enough.

To be honest, I’m a little worried you’ll try to write to me. We never talked about it. We never talked about anything, really, not if in any way pertained to you leaving. Hell, I probably wouldn’t send this letter if it was an option since I’m talking about you leaving. I’m gonna write, though. Every day, even if I can’t send the letters. Maybe I’ll just given them to you when I see you again.

Guess I should explain why I can’t send the letters? I got picked for a special program by a man named Dr. Erskine. He’s really smart, Jewish, and everyone here (everyone that matters anyways) looks up to him. You’d like him, I think, though not how we met. He found out about all the lying I’d been doing trying to get into the army, then he picked me to join the program! Can you believe that, Buck? Me. The other guys are the real deal, too. Soldiers from all over. I’m not sure how I stand a chance against them, but I’m giving it my best. This is my only shot to get over there. ~~and to be with you.~~ If I succeed, they’re going to make me a super soldier, though I’m not entirely sure what that is. I know enough to know they’ll fix me. Maybe I’ll actually be able to go a whole round in boxing with you if I make it.

I’m not sure I hope you’re writing me or not. If you write to me, it means you’re thinking about me. If you don’t, you won’t find out I can’t get your letters since I’m not at home. Don’t even know what’ll happen to them, but it’s not like I got the money to keep the flat. They’re paying me a little, but not enough for that, so if you write they’ll just…I don’t know? What happens to the letters that got nowhere to go? Do they go back to the post office? Will they try to send them back to you? God, I hope not. Don’t even wanna think about what kind of gasket you’ll blow if all your letters come back to you. I can’t even tell you I’m okay. You’re just some guy, right? Just a friend. They won’t get it, that you’re everything. Can’t tell them either, make them understand so they’ll let me send you a letter. The other guys get to, send them to their wives and moms and stuff. All I got is you, Buck. Never told you that, thought you’d know, but maybe I should have. Said something, I mean.

Miss you,

 

Steven G. Rogers

* * *

 

Bucky,

You wouldn’t believe the woman they’ve got training us here at Camp Lehigh. Her name is Peggy Carter, she’s British and holy shit, Buck, she could knock you over if she wanted to. Meanest right cross I’ve ever seen. Gorgeous, too. All curves like you like and curly brown hair. She’s always got herself painted up, red lips and ok I’m going on a bit, but you’d just love her if you met her. Fall right over yourself, I bet, but she’d fall for your dumb smile. Everyone does. I did.

Thinking of you,

 

Steven G. Rogers

* * *

 

Hey punk,

    Basic’s finally calming down a bit, now that we can all walk with in time and shout back orders and stand at parade rest until our feet fall off. I know some useless fucking shit now, but it means we’re getting to the good stuff. My marksmanship was so good, they’re making me a sniper. You believe that? Gonna be shooting krauts from a mile away and they won’t even see me coming.  
    Some of the guys have been talking and we’re not sure if we’re going to Europe, Africa, or the Pacific. I hear the Pacific has the worst of the fighting, but some guys think its worse if you’re in Europe stuck in a ditch. Africa, man, that place sounds hot as all hell. Really wish they’d just post me home, but that’s not likely to happen. No krauts in New York, at least that’s the whole reason we’re fighting on the other side of the world, right? Make sure they don’t make it here. I don’t really care where they send us, though, so long as when it’s over ~~you’re still~~ they send me home.  
    Please tell me you haven’t gotten knocked round the bend since I left.

Bucky

 

* * *

 

Bucky,

PT today was fantastic! You’d never believe what happened. We go out on this mile run and I’m keeping up as best I can (ok, I’m way behind everyone else, but I didn’t start wheezing so there’s that) and we get to this flag they’ve got set up. Maybe you got one, too? It’s this big flag pole and the Drill Sergeant tells us to get it down and we get a ride in the jeep back to base, that no ones gotten it in 17 years. All the guys go bananas trying to climb this pole, jumping on each other and sliding down because no one can get up there. I can’t even get near it because there’s so many of them. Once they clear out, giving up, I can finally get a look at it and it’s so simple Buck, I don’t know why no one else saw it. The flag pole is held up by a pin at the base! I pull the pin, flag falls, I grab the flag and wham, no more running! You should have seen the other guys’ faces. No surprise, they don’t really like me so it was a peach showing them like that.

Unfortunately, they’re not the only ones that don’t like me. Agent Carter does (I wrote about her last time), but Colonel Phillips doesn’t even like that I’m a part of Project Rebirth. I can’t hear them, but he’s always complaining to Dr. Erskine about me. I know because of how he looks at me when he talks, before you say anything. On the other hand, Dr. Erskine really does like me. If the vote is some kind of democracy, I’m two up, one down. Odds in my favor?

God, Buck, I want this so bad it hurts. Hope you’re doing well. And not writing me. God, I hope you’re not writing me.

Miss you,

 

Steven G. Rogers

* * *

 

Hey punk,

    I’m with the 107th on a train, headed to the coast where we’re boarding ships and heading across the Atlantic. Lemme tell you, it’s hot as hell. Wishing I was home right about now, just so I could strip down and lay out on the fire escape. They’re telling me any letters you sent could get delayed now that we’re shipping out so if you’ve sent one, I still won’t get it for a while.  
    The guys have been giving me shit since I haven’t written about them yet. Most of them are putzs, but Dum Dum and Gabe are pretty great guys. Dum Dum (it’s just a nickname, Steve, calm down) is from Boston. Good guy though. He’s got this stupid bowler hat that he just will not take off and a handle bar mustache like out of the Old West. Gabe is from New York, too. Plays trumpet at a club in Manhattan, though he says guys like us would never be allowed inside. He’s probably not wrong. Always wanted to go dancing in a place like that, though.  
    Don’t suppose you’ve stopped lying to recruiters yet? How’s ma and Becca doing? Make sure she’s keeping her nose out of trouble. Becca, not my ma. Now I’m imagining you trying to tell my ma she’s gotta keep her nose clean. Yikes.  
    Considering we’ll be on a boat next, dunno when I’ll get to write you again. Hope you’re not doing anything too stupid. Who am I kidding? How many fights you been in since I shipped out? 30? Remember to to bob and weave and keep your wrists stiff, Stevie.

Bucky

P.S. Bet homes nothing without me, right?

 

* * *

 

Bucky,

I’m telling you this only because if you hear it from anyone else you’re going to kill me. I jumped on a grenade today. Okay, hear me out. It wasn’t a live grenade. It was a test. I don’t know what kind of test, but Colonel Phillips threw the grenade at us during PT and I just

I’ve been staring at that line for about 30 minutes and I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing really went through my head except these guys, they’re good guys, they’re our guys. I know I’m not the top pick here, but these guys can go on to do real good for America after all this. Picked or not, they’re some really great soldiers Buck and I just couldn’t let anything happen to them.

I know. You’re pissed and I’m sorry. Really I am. If it had been a real grenade I’d never see you again. You’d never see me again. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even tell you what happened. Training accident and you’d be left wondering why I was off training at anything in the first place. So I’m sorry, but if it happens again I hope I make the same choice. Just like I hope that someone out there makes that choice if a grenade is lobbed near you.

Your stupid punk,

 

Steven G. Rogers

* * *

 

Hey punk,

    You would not believe what a ship full of army jackasses and nothing to do is like. It’s the most boring thing I’ve ever experienced. And apparently I get sea sick so this will be a short letter. Just trying to distract myself from the way this fucking floating monstrosity rolls.  
    We play a lot of poker and I’m probably smoking more than you’d like, but I don’t have to worry about that since you aren’t near by. No more smoking on the fire escape, at least not until I get home. As nice as it is, I still wish I was home. It smells like fifty men crammed into a sardine can because we’re fifty fucking men crammed in a goddamn sardine can. Everyone’s going a little crazy, to be honest.  
    Thank god I didn’t join the Navy.

Bucky

 

* * *

 

Bucky,

I don’t even know where to start. Dr. Erskine is dead. I’m. Well, you wouldn’t believe what I am, or how I look, or what they did to me. It’s fantastic. I might even be bigger than you.

The cost, though. Not sure it was worth the cost. With Dr. Erskine dead, they’re shutting down Project Rebirth. The SSR is being reassigned. Senator Brandt has gotten me a promotion, or a rank, I guess. Captain. I’m an honest to god Captain. Not that I’m being sent to the front lines. They want me to help sell war bonds. Better than a little red wagon, right? It’s not what I wanted, but if I prove myself, maybe they’ll let me go to the front. I am a super soldier now. Not that I can tell anyone, the whole program is still classified so no one gets any ideas.

So I still can’t send you this letter. Maybe it would be different if you were blood family, but it won’t be like I can hide it when I see you face to face.

Until I see you again,

 

Steven G. Rogers

P.S. Being tall is incredible and who fucking knew there were so many colors? Why didn’t you tell me about the colors? You’re a jerk.  
P.P.S. I broke the window at Madam Glaukis’. You know, that little wedding boutique by the parking lot where Tommy Hotchkins broke my nose that first time? Don’t think she’ll be happy to see me again. Or you, for that matter, just so you know.

 

* * *

 

Steve,

    You’re gonna hate me saying it, but I’m glad you’re not here. We made the front three days ago and it’s been nothing but death since. The 107th is in Europe, by the way. Not sure that was clear when I said we were crossing the Atlantic. Can’t say where. Dum Dum and Gabe are still with me, but a lot of guys have already died. I’m glad I can think of you home, safe, and not out here.  
    You remember that trip we took to Ebbetts for your birthday? I think about that day a lot. The crowd, the beer, the hotdogs. Remember, you got so riled up you nearly had an attack? Can’t believe that game still. Best part was spending that day with you. I want you to know that in case. Well, just in case.  
    Miss you Steve.  
    Got a letter from Becca, still haven’t gotten one from you. I told her to check in on you, so if she drops in don’t be surprised. If she dropped in already, hope you’re not pissy. Just wanna make sure you’re alright. We both know that cough you got ain’t nothing even if we never say so out loud. Not even sure why I’m writing it down, cept I need to explain to you why I sent my baby sister to check on you when I know you hate being mother henned. Well, tough shit, Rogers. I’m all the way over here and someones gotta watch out for your dumb ass.

Bucky

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky,

They got me in movies! Real, honest to god movies. And the pictures are packed when it shows. I’m in comics and they’re selling all sorts of stuff with my name on it. All for the war effort. All to make money for you guys over there. Bullets and guns and whatever else you need.

Okay, so it’s not me. It’s Captain America, but he’s me, so I guess it is me. I dunno. Wish I could talk to you about it. See if you’ve seen the comics, or the movies. Do you guys get movies over there? They’re sending me over with the USO, so maybe I’ll see you then and can ask. I hope I get to see you. Don’t even know where you’re stationed, though, do I? You could be in Africa, or the Pacific and I’m headed to Europe. Maybe not even your part of Europe. Do you write me? Would I know this if I’d stayed home? I try not to think about it, honestly. I thought about writing to Becca or your mom, getting them to send my letters on, but I can’t even send them so what’s the point? Maybe just to see your handwriting. I dunno. I just miss you.

 

Steven G. Rogers

* * *

 

Steve,

    What’s going on? Becca says the apartment has a new tenant. The landlord says you just never came back and he sold all our stuff. I’m sending this to Lyle’s Grocer in the hopes he knows how to get it to you. Are you okay? Did something happen? Please, write me. I’m going out of my mind here.

I keep thinking about your mom in that TB ward.  
    ~~Steve~~ Write me. ~~I need to~~ I’m worried. We’re being sent to the front. Mail gets real flakey out there so if I don’t get your letter right away I’ll understand, but just write me something. Anything. I need to know you’re okay. I wasn’t going to write that, but what’s the fucking point? If I die, I want you to know someone did care about your stupid punk ass. So write me, or so help me god I will kick your ass when I get home. Asthma or no asthma, your ass is mine.

 

WRITE ME

Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr ](http://cleo4u.tumblr.com/)


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